


Darkness for the Light

by V_mum



Series: Kaayras Adaar [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, Minor canon divergence, Qunari, Solas isn't exactly easy to write the perspective of, between cannon occurrences, hints of trauma and ptsd in there lads, more like, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum
Summary: Cole is, thankfully, the faster of two rogue men with dueling blades.The situation and all its panic, Forgotten in an instant.Incredible.





	Darkness for the Light

The herald wasn't awake for long after the camp of survivors sang their faith.

By the time Solas got a chance to talk to him, alone, Kaayras Adaar was barely on his feet anymore.

Rocked with emotions, exhaustion, injury- he could see why. The mighty qunari man was a wonder. Solas wondered if he’d still be standing, in that condition, let alone making plans to scout to the northern mountains if it was anyone else in his position. Likely not- anyone else would, most assuredly, be dead.

A few times over.

How that man could even level headedly consider starting the trip- the grueling journey to skyhold-  _ immediately _ after Solas told him the direction he needed to go… was incredible.

Luckily, he was easily dissuaded back into the camp to rest at the end of their conversation. Barely on his feet, returned to his tent with unsteady limping through the shallow snow, back into his cot only because he'd been told to. Foolhardy, a limping man was willing to lead his people through the mountains.

He passes out almost immediately when he lays on the ramshack cot, hastily put together to keep the survivor’s warm bodies off frozen ground, keep icy dirt from stealing body heat. It only just barely holds his weight; if he sat too heavily, it would snap under Adaar. Luckily, rouge that he is, the inquisitor is graceful, despite his size and weight.

Thrice, then, it seems that Solas will sit at his side and perform observations on the mark. At least for once he can do so knowing the man is only  _ asleep _ , not unconscious. He’d kept him alive after the conclave, and he’d gotten a bit of healing and observation done initially after Adaar had stumbled upon the camp alive. He’d finish what he’d started, now, sure the inquisitor wasn't slipping into a coma for once.

Suddenly the area darkens around him, only the pale light of the green mark- the  _ anchor _ \- to see by as the light of campfire disappears.

Solas looks up.

Resident spirit Cole, of course. The stocky, fidgety boy of a man fiddles with the corner of the tarp a moment longer, before it's attached well enough to the tent, sealing the room into darkness. 

“Light, loud- labouring to ignore. makes it hard to sleep, so tired. Nothing safer than enclosure, waking to an empty room, empty bed, a door he locks, locks, locks. Deep, dense darkness hides the details, desperately departing from to dream. Safe walls, darkness, a door to check is locked three times to seldom sleep safely inside.”

A silence falls.

“I don't know where to find him a door.” the spirit concedes, fidgeting, looking up to the tarp he hung.

“The tarp won't make it much quieter, either. But it'll be dark, and it  _ is _ safe.” Solas agrees, calmly.

“He likes the dark. Hides what one doesn't want to see, no matter what he must do in it. Easy to pretend.”

“...for now, what he must do is only sleep.”

“He’d like that. The dark is made for sleeping.”

“It is.”

And then, quiet.

When Solas looks up, the spirit is already gone.

He’s only interacted with Cole once before that. A brief interaction, while evacuating haven into the chantry building. The two of them, coming head to head, striking down the same red templar, the corrupted creature’s sword drawn on a young woman in a chantry sister uniform.

A brief meeting of expressions- two creatures, heavy in fade, coming face to face and recognizing one another. 

Other than that, Solas has only watched him. The spirit was obsessively busy about haven’s survivors. Somehow at every dying person’s side in their final moments, somehow delivering food he scavenges from the snowy environment to whomever is most hungry. A child is given a blanket they were crying for, having left it behind in haven, but somehow it's returned to him- alongside diaries, or family heirlooms forgotten in haven- thought were forgotten, at least, before its realized they’d somehow managed to grab it, after all.

Cole is perhaps the busiest person in the survivors, and Solas makes a note to converse with the spirit later. He's so very intrigued.

His attention is stolen again by the flash of the anchor, growing bright in his grasp.

He’d sensed this before, in the early cursory look over, when they’d found the herald. Something about the anchor has changed. He doesn't know what about it has changed, not exactly, not entirely sure what could have done this. It’s Grown. Grown… deeper. Deeper in the flesh, like roots.

Everyone has mana in their body- in their flesh, in their bones. Magic, innate, bare connections to the fade. Of course, what made the tranquil so… wrong. Removing connection to the fade… you're barely a person. More like a plant, with better developed nerves and muscles. But even plants are natural.

The anchor, its… its not a  _ hole _ in the veil. It's sort of like the opposite. A malignant growth of the veil. Scrunched up so tightly, like pulling in the fabric of it, and yet the veil is so thin inside. So much of the cloth, and yet it's such a thin cloth, sucking in, or pushing out energy, now. Thinned down fabric pulled and scrunched through a little metal ring, it's the best way to describe the anchor. If you yank on it enough, you can open the veil by tearing it, and somehow close it up again.

Its thinner than it was before, the fabric of the veil in the Inquisitor’s palm, and the bunched up cloth is… looser.

He's not sure whether that's a good thing. Adaar briefly told him, the advisors and cassandra while he was awake, that he’d done something  _ new _ with the anchor upon waking up half dead. Something in a cave, to a room of veil demons. The anchor had changed.

From what it sounds like, when corypheus had him, grabbed him by the arm, dangled him in the air, fondled with the mark itself before deeming it worthless to him now- all that intrusion made it looser. Adaar now had the ability to take in energy, fill up the anchor, force it out. Rather than making rifts- other holes- he made new malignancies. Less stable ones, by using the stored energy to pinch together the veil, dense. Heavy. Crushes fade creatures, or creatures close to the fade. Sucks them back within, before the creases and bunches smoothe back out again.

But the thinning of the anchor’s cloth worried him. The  _ spread  _ of the malignancy deeper into the natural magic of the body…  _ worried  _ him.

It left questions- tainting of the fade? Ill effects? The possibility of a rift tearing open  _ inside _ of the herald himself? Was he more, or less vulnerable to a possession, now? What effects could come with such a thinned fabric of the fade inside a person, grown right into the magic of his own body?

A deep, slow breath passed through the herald.

He was certainly sleeping better than before, at least. Cole had the right idea. The light of the fire and the arguments must have been what kept him awake, tossing and turning, after they’d found him. Solas had attributed it to nightmares, sleep anxieties, restlessness from the deadly trek alone to find the camp. He’d brinked death there, multiple times; between the avalanche, the cave of demons, the snowstorm he struggled through.

Once more, he's impressed with the difficulty of killing the Herald. Lucky it is for the inquisition that this man works for them; if the herald were on the side of corypheus- well, they'd really be in danger.

He sleeps easier- but even still, Solas notes, not easy. Still so light, barely asleep, shifting consistently, almost tugging out of Solas’ inspecting fingers. At this rate, will he ever recover from the exhaustion to lead them north? He considers asking Vivienne for a sleeping spell, perhaps, if she knows one. Or maybe he can find some of the sleep powder the rouge uses on his enemies to knock him out?

“He won't sleep deeply under your hands- hands in the dark are the  _ worst  _ part of the dark, even if the dark helps never to see them.”

Cole returns, without even a sound to announce himself. Closer than before- Solas looks up from the Herald’s bare hand, and Cole is crouched on the other side of the qunari man.

“A break from running around and helping, then?”

“Your concerns are quiet, not sharp, dull, but serious. Heavy to hear, hard to help. They don't hurt you, now, but… they can hurt a lot of people, soon. We need him to rest- this place isn't safe, more people will fall faint here in this camp. They'll get sick- there's not enough food- enemies from haven may yet find the people here, not far enough from Haven.” Cole echoes his concerns- not only his own, but shared between everyone in charge, and everyone in the camp.

Solas nods, calm. “Getting Herald Adaar fit is very important. When he can move again, make a trip in the mountains, we can get everyone safely to somewhere better. Where survival odds will increase. And there is less danger of the mark causing complications if he is fit, as well.”

“He needs sleep.” Cole nods sagely, agreeing. “The bright sun in his palm feels stable, despite your worry. How do i help?”

Solas gives a small rumble, wrapping up his inspections as he asks, “Touching you say? That is what is keeping him up?”

That's very well- Cole’s right. There's not much more he can do to settle the anchor, its as stable as it can be, given the exhausted man its attached to. But if not touching is how the inquisitor will get the most rest- he may have to put off the healing session the qunari man is deeply in need of, until he's at least more rested.

“The dark helps to hide the hands, the dark is always welcome, comforting. But not the touching. He will wake again soon, if you keep touching.” 

“Are you sure he's not the one who’s attracting your attention, then?” he muses, despite Cole saying he came for Solas’ ‘larger’ worries. No less- if it'll put more energy into Adaar, he lays the hand back onto the bed beside the large body. 

“His hurts are quiet while he sleeps, even if they ache under hands.” 

There's a pause carved into quiet, and in the dark, they both observe the sleeping man. Solas goes to make a response, but Cole slips back into reading the sleeping inquisitor, without even thinking.

“Darkness, quiet, and his gloves. Engulfing cloth- rough leather on calloused fingers. Won't have to feel it, skin on sharp skin, like splinters stuck under silk, rubs the skin raw with even the softest touches, fake intimacy and soothing lies. dark, quiet, gloved hands- won't have to feel a thing.” his voice ends with a tone of someone whos come upon a relieved revelation, touched with a delighted panic. 

Another brief silence, length of a single heartbeat. 

“He likes the leather. It feels nice.” Cole finishes with a nod, as if he agrees with the notion.

Solas leans forward again, slides his staff out of the way, enough to lean forward and reach, and makes to once more re-apply the glove to the inquisitor's hand, careful not to ‘ _ rub skin raw’ _ as Cole says. as much as he can avoid, anyway.

He’s not looking to pry into what he hears, not in the least. But it's helpful, what Cole reveals- some of it, that is. There's compulsory questions- he’s always asked a lot of questions, it's why he's a good mage, a wise man, and knows as much as he does- but they aren't things that concern him, things he needs to pry into. They do not have anything to do with him, not his business to pry from a spirit that doesnt think twice to read into certain parts of a person's mind. As long as Adaar sleeps, he is content for now with the new information.

He’s been in the tent a while- his eyes have adjusted to the artificial dark. When the light comes in, its briefly blinding.

He hears Cole shift in the bright stream- barely, the spirit boy is almost silent- growing suddenly tense. An inquisition soldier in scavenge-repaired armor comes into the room as cole mutters (borderline whines) “too bright.” in that tone of distance, of feeling someone else’s words.

It’s spoken at the same time as Adaar jerks, awoken. 

Just a quick jerk- the way one might jump from a dream in which they were falling. Innocent- just a sudden waking from the surprise of light.

Solas moves to take his hands back when he feels the body jump- weary of  _ skin on skin _ , as the spirit had just warned him. Impulsive he lets go- impulsively calculative, thinking that was best. 

It may have been better not to move at all.

The second skin shifts against skin- the second Solas moves, the little jerk is not so little. From jerking awake, to jerking up right. 

And almost immediately at that, he recognizes: 

_oh,_ _bad. _

As simple a thought as it is, it's all there’s time for in the transpiring moment.

Especially as Adaar sees- his eyes trained for fighting- as hands- hands trained for  _ fighting _ \- grabs dagger from hip holster, weapons used for  _ fighting _ .

The  _ bleeder of souls _ is quite the dagger, from the hinterlands- cast with corrupting rune, and all. Devastating against unsuspecting humans- back turned, unknown danger they wouldn't expect from the Herald, in scavenged armour from the battlefield remnants of haven, emblem of a templar, red cloth from  _ red _ templars. A man in templar armour, and a dagger in hand.

‘ _ Oh, bad. _ ’ is all there's time for, before disaster.

Graceful as ever, big and fast. One hand clutched in dagger, other reaching behind him for the second of the deadly pair. Impulsively attacking from behind against the perceived enemy, as if stepping out of the shadows on a battlefield, not out of his own cot. 

Solas only has time to grab the staff he’d set down, not even enough time to raise even one knee from his sitting position.

Cole is, thankfully, the faster of two rogue men with dueling blades.

One hand claps around the other’s, knife dug into the area between fingers, cutting. Not deep, superficial. Bare fingers, wrapped palms, clapped around one bare handed fist clutching a blade- smaller hand then the qunari, smaller, but stronger than mere half awake impulse. Cole’s other hand has grabbed Adaar’s other- gloved- fist at the waist, caught and pinned against his hip by Cole’s quick, nimble fingers, second knife already in Adaar’s deadly grip. 

Cole effectively has him grasped and still, caught and held in frozen place. 

Cole is probably less than half the Heralds weight. Impressive feat to catch him as he has, even if the inquisitor’s brain is addled with sleep and exhaustion, body hindered with injury and wound. 

Still, he wastes no time.

“There's no fight. There's no hands. There's nothing to fight, there's no one to protect, there's no one to please. It's time to sleep.”

Quick, easy words follow, not whispers in volume, but whispers in tone- assurances that crack directly from the panic that races through the Herald’s mind. Each word aimed to disarm, while real, nibble fingers do actual disarming. Pulls the second blade out of the Qunari’s gloved hand, drops it on the ground. It clatters by his feet.

All this, from the first little jerk awake to the current time, in a manner of what feels like a second to Solas’ pounding ears. He watches, intrigued. Motionless, because he doesn't need to spook Adaar- suddenly noticing another unseen presence in the room would not help the situation.

One hand disarmed now, Cole raises his free hand quickly to the panicked and confused expression of the inquisitor- the soldier behind him almost says something- probably would have yelled whatever it was. the soldier looks up at the hand that goes up, too, and cole seizes a chance; a flash of black and white Cole produces at his palm, as if to blind both men.

Dazed and confused, the tension breaks. Both parties, one pressed against the spirit man’s front, the other pressed against his back, have gone still as stone, expressions blank, dazed, lost, unsure. The situation and all its panic, Forgotten in an instant. 

_ Incredible _ .

Cole lets go of the bladed hand, just barely to the left of his own head. The blade still hangs in the air, the fist around it so still you wouldnt know Cole’d been straining to hold it still but a moment ago. 

The hand hovers in confused stillness in the air, like undecided if it should continue its murderous arc. frozen in time like snow. Cole reaches behind himself quickly, past the soldier, to the table the soldier had been searching. He picks a book up off the salvaged table- what the inquisition soldier had come in for, apparently- and presses the item into the soldier’s gloved hands. Cole turns the soldier boy by the shoulder- doesn't move, still as death, spirit as he is, stays pressed chest against chest to the still dazed Herald. Merely reaches behind him, pushes the soldier out of the tent by the shoulder. The flap closes, darkness engulfs the room again.

Those same, aimed comforting words don't ever stop, but now aim the Herald with guiding words, worked into them between the comforts.

“It's time to sleep. No enemies to fight, no hands to roam. No weapons to sleep, just your gloves and the bed. You'll feel safe, comfort of the dark, just sleep, safe comfortable sleep.”

Cole turns Adaar with two hands on his shoulders, finally daring to move either of them, facing him toward the bed. Carefully, undoes the buckle of Adaar’s utility belt, still murmuring to him about the darkness. Belt, tools, and back up weapons removed, Cole carefully takes the last harmful object still clutched in adaar’s hand- careful, not to touch the hand itself, and rumbles “no skin. no skin, or skin on skin. safe.” as he takes the final blade from Adaar’s fingers. 

Shuffling the belt and weapons under one arm to hold, Cole picks up the abandoned leather glove, carefully grabs the herald’s hand-  _ gloved _ hand, the one safe to touch- and gives the Herald the glove back, pressing it into the empty gloved palm. 

Adaar sits a moment onto the cot, drowsy, pulling his glove on, confused. While he does, Cole carefully removes yet another dagger- strapped to his leg, hidden under the rim of his boots, nodding to himself. The Inquisitor is now thoroughly disarmed. 

Kaayras flexes his hands, looking at them, shoulders slumping in relief, but the confusion lingers, like he doesn't comprehend why he's relieved. 

He looks up at Cole, and then to where someone was almost stabbed. Cole steps to the side- blocks his view of the spot, and the qunari looks up at him instead, now. 

“I'm sorry.” he looks like he has no idea why he’s sorry.

“I know. It's time to sleep.” is the response, in such a kind tone of voice. Adaar lays back down as he’s urged, easily, relieved, and Cole adds again, once more, “you'll feel safe, in the dark. Protected.” then, imitates three soft odd ‘click’ noises, with a second of silence between each one. “The door is locked.” He promises Kaayras at last.

A final exhale passes through the lain body, and apparently, that's the last assurance he needs.

Solas is amazed, looking over Adaar as Cole moves to the table, sets the utility belt and knives down on the stand. Fidgets with his sleeves as he squats to pick up the other blade he had dropped on the ground, and place it on the table with the others. 

He stays squatted there, odd that the boy is, in the silence of listening to Adaar’s breath even out and deepen with Solas. Fidgets with the fraying ends of sleeves, and the wrappings around his palms.

“They won't remember that. You want to remember it, though.” Cole says, slowly, quietly.

“...yes. Certainly, i'd… like to avoid that again, in the future. The memories would help me to.”

“He didn't mean to hurt anyone. He just got scared.”

Solas nods. Easy to tell, you don't have to read a mind like a spirit to know that. Obvious, if you know inquisitor Adaar to begin with. 

Still, dangerous. He’ll gladly keep memory, if there ever again is a time someone needs to know what will happen. Next situation, perhaps Solas can prevent it entirely.

But it's good that neither of the other two will remember.

“Sleeps easier…  _ alone _ , in the dark.” Cole offers him once more, and Solas isn't surprised that Cole is already gone when the elven mage looks to him again, finding only empty space.

He’ll leave the inquisitor to sleep alone, then. 

He makes sure to go out the back side of the tent- the side not facing the campfire.

Knowledge, for the future: not to touch the Herald’s bare hands, his skin; particularly while he slept, or as he woke; at all, if preferable. Remember to tell others not to, if he must.

He makes a plan when they get to skyhold- he’ll make sure Herald Adaar will have a room to himself entirely. A room with a lock on the door, too. A waste of space given the refugees ought to use all the castle space they can, but, a whole room may be safer. For everyone. 

It won't be hard to convince them- Solas can already tell; soon they’ll make him the official leader, official inquisitor. Not that he wasn't, really, already the lead; humans just take so long to bestow their often times meaningless honors, waiting for “just the right moment” as it were. 

Perhaps the fall of haven, perhaps. Solas thinks that The Right Time may now be upon them.

Adaar sleeps for almost 2 days, and doesn't wake until dawn of the third day. 

They set out for skyhold within the end of the hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Solas is,,, certainly a challenge to write. im quite dreading Sera and Vivienne as well. difficult to write them in their own pov as well.


End file.
